LADIES IN THE PARLOR
by Jim Tully
This is the saga of Madame Rosen-bloom’s fashionable establishment in Chicago and of the ladies in her domain. And here is the Jim Tully of “Circus Parade”—the forthright Tully whose language is as frank as life itself.
Tully does not pull his punches. The big men and the little ladies for whom Madame Rosenbloom’s house is a social center are portrayed with vigor and honesty. The novel is crammed with incident and penetrating word pictures. It is not a story for the squeamish. But if life itself, —that robust, lusty segment of life that is here so honestly and brilliantly depicted—does not frighten or shock you, this novel will hold your deepest interest.
Copyright:
COPYRIGHT, 1935, BY JIM TULLY
Manufactured by:
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC., BINGHAMTON, N. Y.
Dedication:
To
W. D. GREET
GEORGE STAHLMAN
AND
WALTER WINCHELL
COMPANIONS“Down the roadway in the dusk, Where the shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by.”
Front Matter Quote:
A philosophy undoubtedly perverse has induced me to believe that good and evil, pleasure and sorrow, beauty and ugliness, reason and folly, are blended, one into thy other, by shades as indiscernible as those on the neck of a dove.
ERNEST RENAN
Ernest Renan (February 28, 1823–October 12, 1892) was a French philosopher and writer, deeply attached to his native province of Brittany. He is best known for his influential historical works on early Christianity and his political theories. - from Wikipedia
Contents:
(33 untitled chapters)
Excerpts:
Her aunt, gazing at her in the dying light of the day, said more quickly than usual, “You’re beautiful as the devil, Leora.”
“Was the devil beautiful?” Leora asked without blushing.
“They say he was,” replied Red Moll. Pulling another piece of bark from the tree, she added, “It’s no wonder he went to hell.”
From Chapter 4
Later, the radiant Leora asked, “Doctor—are things a sin when people are not married?”
It was the doctor and not the deacon who answered. As usual with men of science, he asked another question while answering with,
“Is it a sin to be alive?”
“No—I think it’s grand,” Leora replied.
“That’s your answer,” said the doctor, as the first caller rang the bell.
From Chapter 5
“Let’s ride along the river,” suggested the girl.
The leaves of the trees had turned to various colors, and stretched, a miles-long carpet, around a bend in the river, behind which the sun had set.
Night came swiftly. The air was soon filled with sparks from fireflies.
“I wonder where the lightning-bugs go in the winter?”
The doctor, roused from reverie, looked at the girl. She had never seemed so beautiful to him. Stopping an impulse to put his arm about her, he said, “They all die, I suppose.”
The girl shuddered, “I hate death.” She shook her head quickly. Her hair streamed across her face, “I’d be afraid to die.”
“Why—,” said the doctor, “you’re not afraid to go to sleep—and when you do that you wake up to the same old thing. When you die you might wake up to something different.”
“I’d rather wake up to the same old thing,” returned Leora.
“It’s all in the way we’re trained,” said the doctor. After lighting a cigarette, he resumed, “There are people in the world who laugh at a death and cry at a birth. I was reading about them the other day.”
The girl thought for a moment. “Maybe they’re right,” she said. Her voice became animated, “Tell me—what did my mother get out of life—one kid after another. Her skirts were always lopsided because of babies pulling at them.”
“She fulfilled her purpose in the world,” said the doctor, “to bring others into it like herself.”
“Well—all I can say is—it’s a hell of a purpose—she lived and died like a cow.”
“Well, that’s all right,” returned the doctor, “nature’s no more interested in her than if she were a cow.”
“What’s all this claptrap they teach you in church about then?” she asked.
“You called it—just that—it’s too easy to believe—don’t you think?” He looked at Leora.
“I don’t care about it either way, and I seldom give it a thought, except that I don’t want to die.”
“That’s nothing new,” returned the doctor, “Nobody wants to die.”
“My mother did,” said Leora.
From Chapter 5
The whole business of living’s a long disease—and I’d like to know what the hell more any man can have than a girl like you in bed—and when we have our little hour all we do is make brats for future undertakers and tombstone makers…”
Chapter 29
